Valmorbia, where on breaths of wind
the flowers of plants in clouds criss-crossed your depths,
conversing; where blind fate had thrown us down,
and we became oblivious to the world.

The guns fell silent; in your lonely womb
the Leno’s roar was all we heard.
A rocket blossomed on its stalk;
its tears fell faintly in the air.

The nights, all bright as dawn,
brought foxes to my lair.
Valmorbia, a name — and now, in my dim memory,
a land where darkness never comes.